


We're Only Good For The Latest Trends

by queenjameskirk



Series: Model AU [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Model AU, Modern Era, Panic Attacks, Past Credence/Graves, but a lil fluff too, eventually there will be smut, mentions of drug use, no magic, non graphic mentions of past non-con, there's gonna be a happy ending I swear, this made me realize i have a smoking kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenjameskirk/pseuds/queenjameskirk
Summary: "He’s just lit his smoke and taken the first drag when someone startles him.“You don’t happen to have another of those, do you?” An accented voice asks and Credence jumps. He spins and is met with the most freckled man he’s ever seen. The man gestures to Credence’s lit cigarette.“Unfortunately, this is my last,” Credence apologizes, and is about to turn away from the man when he hesitates. “We can share it though,” he offers."In which Credence Barebone and Newt Scamander are both fashion models who meet at an industry party.





	1. we're only liars

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when i stare too long at pics of eddie and ezra's modeling days. i'm not sorry.
> 
> about the warnings:  
> nothing is explicit. there are no graphic scenes where drugs are done or non-con happen, but they're heavily implied. if this in any way squicks you out, please be careful!! i'd rather you be happy and comfortable than read my fic and feel bad!! 
> 
> this fic is completely finished so i'll be uploading the first two chapters right away and then the rest once a day. thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy this evidence of my complete mental breakdown!!!

The party is in full swing by the time Credence musters the courage to show up. He’s never liked these superficial affairs, but networking is vital in the fashion world and Credence needs every job he can get. He has to pay rent somehow, and after completely blowing his savings on dissolving his contract with Graves Industries, he’s been living small paycheck to small paycheck. He’s done many indie shoots in the past months and spent an equal many nights laying in bed, trying to ignore his rumbling stomach. He needs to find a new agency before he ends up on the street.

The party is in some millionaire’s loft apartment and the amount of people milling around makes Credence’s breath quicken. Girls walk around in sky-high heels and mink fur coats, their hair bottle blonde. Men flash their shiny watches as they reach for another drink, and everyone laughs with perfect white teeth. Credence feels sick.

He has many memories of Mr. Graves holding his elbow tightly and feeding him champagne while introducing him to too many faces at parties just like this. 

Back when he worked for Percival, he was forced to attend many business gatherings and gallery openings and shake the hand of every sleazy “artist” in New York City. Mr. Graves always wanted to show off his most popular model and Credence was always eager to please. He knew exactly how to slump his shoulders and look at people through his eyelashes; anything to come across as submissive so people would buy more of his pictures.

Now, Credence makes his way through the crowd alone. He ignores the platters of champagne and looks the other way when he sees a coffee table covered in little white lines of cocaine. He chats with a few familiar faces, but none of them have any jobs to offer him so he bounces between groups.

He’s an hour into the party when his teeth start to ache for the feel of a smoke.

Smoking is a bad habit that he picked up during his time working for Mr. Graves. Percival had always been trying to get Credence high, offering him cocaine and little white pills to wash down with a glass of scotch. He’d given in, of course, and over only a few months had tried every drug there was. He’d fallen to rock bottom hard and fast and pulled himself out by the edge of his fingernails.

He’s been clean for an official seven months. The only vice he lets himself keep is smoking.

The perk that comes with his addiction is that photographers always understand the need for a cigarette break. Everyone in the industry has a weakness of some kind and are happy to take five if it means they get to go huddle in the alley and suck down a smoke. It’s quickly become the only way Credence can have spare moments to himself during the day. 

The cigarettes also help him lose weight. Not that he isn’t already stick-thin, but the craving for nicotine surpasses his appetite and even if he was hungry, food has no taste anymore. He’s dropped thirteen pounds since taking up the habit.

Credence moves towards the far windows and finds a balcony that overlooks the city. He finds a secluded area near the edge and leans against a wall. He’s just lit his smoke and taken the first drag when a voice startles him.

“You don’t happen to have another of those, do you?” An accented voice asks and Credence jumps. He spins and is met with the most… freckled man he’s ever seen. The man gestures to Credence’s lit cigarette.

“Unfortunately, this is my last,” Credence apologizes, and is about to turn away from the man when he hesitates. “We can share it though,” he offers. The man looks familiar and Credence is trying to make any connection he can tonight. 

“Cheers,” The man smiles and takes the cigarette when Credence holds it out. It’s borderline pornographic, the way he takes a drag and holds the smoke in his lungs for as long as he can. The man’s shoulders visibly loosen and he exhales blue smoke into the night air. He appears calmer already.

“These… events always make me so anxious,” He confesses, waving his hand through the air and Credence makes himself drag his eyes away from the way the man holds the smoke so effortlessly in pale fingers. The man is wearing a cream colored turtle neck sweater with a green blazer over top. His curly hair falls over his forehead, and his entire look just _screams_ model.

“Agreed,” Credence says, then holds his hand out to shake, “Credence Barebone,”

“Newt Scamander,” The man replies and Credence’s stomach drops. _The_ Newt Scamander?

Newt passes the cigarette back. Credence’s fingers tremble around it. He can’t bring himself to begin a conversation with the man.

Newt Scamander is the biggest model in London right now. He’d been a mere catalogue model for department stores before getting discovered by the illustrious designer, Albus Dumbledore, and being made into the hottest thing in the English industry. Credence has seen him do spreads for Burberry and Prada. He’s worked with nearly every big name in fashion and Credence even heard he’d walked for Louis Vuitton this year during fashion week in Paris. This man is way more famous than Credence will ever be.

Luckily, Mr. Scamander seems perfectly content to smoke in silence with Credence. They pass the cigarette back and forth and watch the cars hurry back and forth on the lit street below. Their smoke ebbs towards the sky and and before he can stop it, a question is falling from Credence’s lips.

“What brings you to America?” he asks, and Mr. Scamander smiles to himself.

“I’ve been offered a shoot with the Goldstein sisters,” he says and Credence nods, eyes wide.

“I love their work,” Credence says quickly, “I think Queenie Goldstein is one of the best and brightest of our generation,”

Newt laughs gently. 

“I can certainly agree with that. I could introduce you to them, if you’d like,” he offers politely, and Credence’s breath catches in his lungs. The other man isn’t making eye contact, choosing instead to direct a pained smile towards the ground.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Scamander,” Credence says quietly, and flicks the ash off the end of his smoke. He can’t take advantage of Newt’s kindness, though. Newt would never want Credence to meet his very important friends if he’d ever seen the kinds of modeling Credence used to do. Newt Scamander is a beautiful, clean man. Credence shouldn’t dirty his reputation.

He takes a final quick drag of his cigarette and offers the rest of it to Newt. Their fingers brush, electric, as Newt takes it. Credence is just about to decline the man’s offer and leave when Newt reaches out and touches his sleeve.

“Follow me,” Newt commands, and finishes off the cigarette and flicks it away into the dark. He moves towards the glass door to leave the balcony. Credence stops and panics fleetingly, but then thinks of his empty fridge and bank account. He follows Newt.

Credence weaves through the crowd after Newt and stands awkwardly as Newt joins a circle of chatting women. He whispers something into the ear of a woman with a dark bob haircut and the woman excuses herself to join Newt next to Credence.

“Tina, this is Credence,” Newt says, and Tina reaches a slender hand out to shake Credence’s own. Tina Goldstein, the brain behind the scenes of the Aurora Talent Booking Agency. “Credence, meet Tina,”

“It’s a great honor to meet you, ma’am,” Credence babbles, and Tina narrows her eyes slightly at him.

“I think I’ve seen you around before,” she says. Before she can interrogate him about his past work, a woman with blonde curly hair is interjecting herself into the conversation. She’s wearing a pink sequined dress that has a distinct 1920s vibe to it. 

“Teenie, who’s this?” she asks, voice light. Tina sighs slightly and turns to the woman.

“Queenie, this is Credence…” She trails off, “What was your last name, Credence?”

“Barebone,” Newt answers for him. 

“Credence Barebone,” Tina finishes, and Queenie reaches her hand out to grasp Credence’s. She doesn’t shake it like her sister had, just holds it in her grip and smiles.

“Very nice to meet you, Credence,” she sings, and Credence just stares at her, starstruck. She has the most inviting smile Credence has ever seen and her blue eyes are full of joy.

“The pleasure is mine,” He makes himself answer, looking at Queenie from under dark lashes. Credence has been in the industry long enough to know how to charm a woman. Newt is smiling to himself again, eyes fixed on Credence and Queenie’s joined hands.

“Oh, Teenie,” Queenie gushes, “We’ve gotta hire this boy,” Credence feels a blush climb up his neck and looks away from the woman’s kind face. 

“Queenie,” Tina starts, eyebrows furrowed, but Queenie flicks her wrist.

“Look at him,” she commands. Credence flushes further under the scrutinizing eyes of Tina Goldstein. 

“I’ll think about it,” Tina gives in, and Credence feels his heart soar and a smile threatens to burst at the corners of his mouth. 

“Give her your card, honey,” Queenie tells Credence. His smile drops.

“I don’t— I don’t have one,” He stutters and Queenie tuts her tongue. He feels shame cloud his features and his eyes are traitorously at the edge of watering when Queenie pulls out an iPhone and thrusts it into his hand. “Just put your number in my phone!” 

Credence fumbles for a moment, catching the exasperated look Tina shoots her sister, but obeys. He’s just tapping in his name when a man shoves his way into their circle.

“Newton, just the man I was hoping to see tonight!” He booms, and brings Newt into an uncomfortable hug. Credence uses the distraction as an escape. He hands the cellphone back to Queenie and bids a quiet goodbye. 

He’s in the elevator, fighting a panic attack, when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

“This is Queenie! I hope to see a lot more of you in the future, sweetie.” The text reads from an unknown number. Credence brings his phone to his chest and lets himself feel hope for the first time in a year.


	2. but we're the best

The night Newt Scamander meets Credence Barebone, he goes home and does a lot of googling. 

There’s just something about the boy’s dark eyes and mysterious aura that Newt can’t get out of his mind. He spent the rest of the admittedly boring party day-dreaming about Credence’s fingers and the way his tall collared shirt had perfectly accented his sharp cheekbones. Newt has been to hundreds of industry parties and has never met a man like Credence Barebone before.

He finds Credence’s online portfolio and spends an hour clicking through every photo. The majority of the watermarks read Graves Industries. Newt is vaguely familiar with that particular agency, but he doesn’t realize why he’s heard the name until he gets to the more provocative shots. 

Graves Industries is known all across the fashion world for taking daring and often times pornographic pictures. Newt has never personally looked through their work, but he’s heard mutterings here and there about the CEO/main photographer, Percival Graves. 

He now understands the agency’s reputation for sexual shoots. 

There are countless photos of Credence kneeling, head bowed, and his hands tied behind his back. There’s pictures of him gagged and bound, and ones where Newt can see where his bindings have cut red lines into his pale skin. Photos with other models, where women drag their lipstick covered mouths across his collarbone and men choke him with large hands, are dotted in haphazardly, but most shoots are Credence alone. There’s a malicious feel to the way the camera seems to slide along his thin body. There are shots solely of his protruding ribs and his sharp jawline. 

In every shoot, Newt notices that Credence wears a chain necklace. It hangs off his defined neck and rests directly over his sternum. Sometimes he has it tucked under his shirt, but Newt can always see a faint gleam of metal beyond his clothes. He can’t quite make out the what the charm is of— it seems to be a triangle with some kind of circle inside. He can’t ignore the way the necklace reeks of possession.

The last photo of Credence Newt finds on the Graves website makes bile rise in his throat. The boy is on his knees, a popular pose of his apparently, and is wearing nothing but a pair of tight black pants. His feet are bare and drawn up under him. There’s a man’s hand reaching from just out of frame and gripping Credence’s cheek, making the boy look directly in the camera. His eyes are hard and wet. Newt can only look for a moment before he makes himself close the browser window.

He goes out onto his balcony and sips at a glass of whiskey. Credence’s eyes burn in his head for the rest of the night.

…

 

It’s during his first test shoot with the Goldstein sisters that Newt hears Credence’s name again. He’s sat in the makeup chair, facing a large vanity with thousands of products spread over it. The makeup artist is applying a faint bit of blush to his cheeks and the Goldstein sisters are arguing.

“Give the boy a _chance_!” Queenie whispers loudly at Tina as they arrange the studio lights to cast a warm glow over where Newt will be modeling. 

“We can’t keep hiring strays!” Tina argues back. “We’ve gotta keep this business up and running somehow, and hiring every sad looking boy you see isn’t the way to do that!” 

“He’s not some kid from Iowa with ten bucks and a dream, Teenie,” Queenie says, fiddling with the brightness on a lamp, “Have you seen the work he used to do? The boy has _talent_!” 

“I have seen them, Queenie, and they’re…” she sputters, “They’re downright scary! I’ve worked with Percival Graves before, and I can tell you the man is a menace behind a camera. I’m sure he plucked Credence off the street, promising him greatness, and then _used_ him.” Tina’s voice is hard and angry, but Newt can tell her anger is not directed toward Credence.

Newt thinks about the photos he’d seen of Credence and suppresses a shiver. He can just imagine Credence as a poor, starving boy in search of a job being brought into the fashion world in a whirlwind by an older and dominating man. Many companies used sex to sell their products, but Graves Industries used their products to sell sex. Meanwhile, Credence probably spent every shoot wondering if it was going to be his last.

With a sudden pat on his shoulder, the makeup artist tells him he’s done and free to go. He makes his way over to where the sisters are talking. They’ve finished the lighting setup and have moved on to making sure the monitors are all working and the cords are out of the way.

“We have no idea how the boy works,” Tina says finally, “He’s probably still hard-wired to do the… techniques Mr. Graves taught him.” Queenie waves a manicured hand in dismissal. 

“I can, uh, sit in on one of his shoots, if you’d like,” Newt offers without thinking, and a blush sets into his cheeks at the way Queenie smiles at him knowingly. He fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket nervously. “Check out how he’s doing on his own,”

“See, Mr. Scamander likes him too!” Queenie snaps at Tina, who snorts. The hardness in her eyes softens.

“Fine,” she gives in, “I… heard from a friend that he’s doing a shoot tomorrow for an indie makeup company. Newt can go and watch him,”

“You’re keeping tabs on him?” Queenie laughs, and Tina flushes.

“Only because I knew you were gonna pester me to give him a job,” she explains. “Newt, I’ll text you the address.”

Queenie claps her hands together in delight. 

“Now, can we please get to work?” Tina pleads. Newt slips into model-mode and pushes any lingering thoughts of Credence’s past from his mind.

…

 

As Newt sneaks into Credence’s shoot, he tells himself it’s only for the benefit of the Goldstein sisters.

He slinks around in the back, sunglasses on, and hopes no one looks too closely and recognizes him. Luckily, everyone at a fashion photoshoot is too wrapped up in their own life to notice an inconspicuous man sitting at the back of the room. He settles down and watches the ten or so assistants buzz around and get Credence ready. When they finally cease with their finishing touches, Credence takes his place standing on a white tarp, lights shining brightly on him and casting a blue hue over his hair.

Credence has been modeling for about half an hour, switching positions every minute or so while the photographer shoots picture after picture of him. They have him dressed in all black and there’s eyeliner smeared thick around his eyes. They’ve contoured his cheeks and made them even sharper than usual. His lips are painted a ruby red. Newt is finding it hard to tear his eyes away from the boy.

Newt has never considered himself talented. He’s awkward even when on his best behavior, getting lost in his own head and missing cues that photographers give him. He’s trained himself to walk tall down the runway, but he prefers to keep his head down and shoulders hunched. Newt thinks perhaps he comes off to people in the industry as aloof and pretentious, but it’s really because he’s constantly in his own head, trying to figure out if he’s behaving the way everyone wants him to. Newt has always thought he was more of a pretty face than a skilled model.

Credence, though. Credence has talent. He knows how to arrange his body and facial features to show off the products that line his eyes and lips. His eyes stare deep into the camera and his neck is bared just enough to give a hint of docility. He never once falters between poses, and Newt is captivated.

Suddenly, the photographer stops and calls his wardrobe assistant over. They have a whispered conversation and Newt watches as the assistant goes over to the accessories table and picks up a fashionable leather choker. Her heels click against the ground as she walks toward Credence. The boy is watching her every move, eyes wide. She walks behind him and pulls the collar tight (too tight) against his neck. She fastens the clasp and returns to the photographers side as he begins snapping pictures. 

“Try one down on your knees,” the photographer barks at Credence, and the boy hesitates for just a moment before dropping to the floor.

When Credence lifts his head to stare into the camera, Newt notices his eyes have completely glazed over. There’s a minuscule shake in his hands as flexes them into fists at his sides. The photographer doesn’t notice the fast jerks of his stomach as the boy struggles to breathe. Newt recognizes a terrified creature when he sees one.

“Hold it!” Newt exclaims and is out of his seat. Credence’s eyes slowly focus and he frowns. 

“Mr. Scamander?” He asks quietly, eyebrows drawn together, as Newt moves through the crowd of wardrobe and makeup artists.

“Pardon me, sir,” the photographer starts, and Newt ignores him as he hauls Credence to his feet. The boy is trembling like a leaf. Newt reaches careful fingers up to his neck and slowly undoes the choker. Credence’s knees almost buckle at the relief.

“Buddy, I’ve got a job to do here,” The photographer complains as Newt pulls Credence’s coat around his shaking shoulders. “That’s my model!”

“Find somebody else,” Newt says and doesn’t look back as he pulls Credence out of the studio. They’re barely out of the front lobby door and Credence is already lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. He blows the smoke out of his lungs and his fingers are trembling as he brings the stick back up to his lips. His eyes are wide and unfocused, staring hard at the city streets as Newt flags down a cab. 

Newt holds the door open for Credence and gently ushers him into the taxi. Credence’s eyes dart around the interior and he opens the window to bring in fresh air and so he can finish smoking.

“Where to?” The cabbie questions and is met with dead air as Credence ignores him.

“Where do you live, Credence?” Newt prompts and Credence startles. He rattles off an address in the East Village to the cabbie and the car jerks into motion. 

Newt spends the entirety of the cab ride biting his fingernails and stealing worried glances at Credence. The boy has his knees pulled up to his chest and his shoulders are curled inwards. He flicks his cigarette out the window, the reflection of the small flame flashing in his eyes. Newt thinks about all the injured animals his zoologist mother used to bring home and the way they’d shrunk back against human touch, hackles raised.

When the cab stops in front of a large apartment building, Credence makes no move to get out of the car. The cabbie huffs impatiently and distantly, a car beeps its horn at them.

“Credence, would you like me to come up with you?” Newt asks, “I don’t think you should be alone right now.” The younger man nods slowly, and Newt pulls some cash out of his pocket to give the driver. He leaves a pretty hefty tip to make up for their dawdling and opens his door. He goes around to the other side and opens Credence’s as well. The boy takes a step out onto the street and digs around in the pockets of his coat for his house key.

Newt follows him to the front door of the building. Credence’s fingers shake as he tries to fit his key in the lock. Once they’re inside, Newt follows Credence up several flights of stairs before coming across apartment number 403. 

When they enter, Newt takes in the small apartment. There’s a mattress on the floor, pushed up against the wall and directly under a large window which lets sunlight bathe the unmade bed in a yellow glow. Credence has a couch and one chair, a coffee table sitting between. There’s a stack of books in one corner, piled precariously. There’s a small table and set of two chairs pushed against the wall near a tiled area that he presumes is the kitchen.

Credence drops his keys in a bowl on the table and pulls off his coat. 

“I hate to be rude,” Credence starts, and it breaks Newt’s heart a little to see the way the boy’s eyes dart around his own apartment, “You can sit anywhere you’d like, I just have to— go…” He gestures towards the bathroom door. 

“No, no, of course,” Newt says, and pulls his coat off. “I’ll just make myself at home,” 

“I mean, I just like to… sit in the bathtub, sometimes,” Credence explains, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He’s embarrassed.

“Oh,” Newt breathes, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll just… brew myself a cup of tea or something,”

“I don’t have any tea,” There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of Credence’s mouth. “I have coffee, though,”

“Perfect,” Newt says. Credence nods and excuses himself. He shuts the bathroom door behind him, and Newt lets out a sign. He’s exhausted already. 

He busies himself with brewing a pot of coffee, and takes a moment to riffle through Credence’s cupboards and fridge in search of milk and sugar. There’s not much in the fridge, a few bottles of water and some apples in a drawer. There’s a half empty bottle of vodka in the freezer. The cupboards hold little else; a few packages of saltine crackers and some bread. Newt is the type of person to absolutely forget to eat until he was feeling faint, but he at least keeps his food supply stocked. He’s never seen a kitchen look so empty. 

There is a container of cane sugar in the pantry though, which Newt takes down and uses to fix himself and Credence cups of coffee. He has no idea if Credence likes his drink sweet, but he reasons that Credence needs a pick-me-up right now and sugar is perfectly good at fixing small problems.

By the time he’s finished his snooping, he figures he’s given Credence a fair amount of time alone. He moves towards the bathroom door, both handles of the coffee cups gripped in one hand. He knocks.

“Credence, can I come in?” There’s a small negative sound on the other side. Newt doesn’t let it offend him. “I’ll just wait here then.”

He slides down, back against the door, and sits on the floor. He sips at his coffee, and tips his head back to rest on the wood. He closes his eyes for a moment, but rouses himself after only a moment of rest.

“Would you like to talk about it?” He calls. 

“There’s not much to talk about, Mr. Scamander,” Credence responds, voice muffled.

“Credence, I know a panic attack when I see one,” Newt says, as gently as possible. He still feels like he’s put his foot in his mouth.

“It was fine, I was fine,” Credence argues, “Being uncomfortable during a shoot is nothing new,”

Newt bites his tongue. He begins tapping a rhythm out on his side of his cup. He’s been in his fair share of uncomfortable shoots; where photographers made him lay in hot sand for hours at a time, or where other models had gotten far too close for his liking. He’s never been forced into a panic attack though.

“Credence, you should never have to do anything that makes you afraid,” Newt explains, “There’s a difference between being uncomfortable and terrified,”

There’s silence on the other side of the door. Newt fixes his eyes at the window of Credence’s bed and thinks about how warm the sunshine must feel. He’s not sure how long he zones out, but suddenly there’s footsteps on the other side of the bathroom door. Newt scrambles to stand before he falls backwards as the door opens. 

Credence has washed the makeup off his face, but his lashes are still dark and sticky from mascara and his lips are still unnaturally red. There’s more color in his face and his hands seem to have stopped trembling.

“Coffee?” Newt offers, holding the cup out. It’s almost completely cold by now, but Credence doesn’t bother reheating it and takes a large swig.

“It’s quite sweet,” he says, and Newt smiles.

“I figured you needed something a little sweet,” he responds, and a flush covers Credence’s neck. Heat blossoms up in Newt’s stomach and threatens to burst his heart from his chest.

“Why were you at my shoot?” Credence questions suddenly, and it’s Newt’s turn to blush.

“I was, uh, sent in by the Goldstein's,” he explains, “to get a feel for your work,”

Credence freezes. He slowly brings his cup up to his red lips and takes a drink, swallowing hard.

“Why would the Goldstein's want to see my work?” he asks, dark eyebrows drawn together. 

“Queenie really likes you,” Newt says, “She wants quite badly for you to join the Aurora agency,” Credence nearly chokes.

“Me? Modeling for the Goldstein's?” His hands start to shake again and Newt wants very badly to reach out and steady them with his own.

“Credence, you have a lot of talent,” Newt assures, “You realize that, right?” Credence huffs out an unhappy laugh, staring into his coffee cup.

“Talent for looking like a whore, you mean,” Credence spits viciously, and Newt feels a swell of sadness in his chest. 

“You’re not a w-whore,” Newt stutters indignantly, but Credence shakes his head ruefully.

“I’ve only ever been good at acting like some submissive… twink.” He spits, eyes far away again. He sounds like he’s repeating a line someone’s told him.

“Credence, whoever told you that has _never_ seen the things I see in you,” Newt says forcefully, fingers white as he grips his coffee mug. Credence looks at him from beneath sooty lashes. They stare at each other for a moment, static in the air.

“Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Scamander,” Credence finally whispers, dropping their previous conversation.

“It was my pleasure,” Newt answers, “And call me Newt.”

…


	3. we're only good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all your kind comments! now buckle in, cause shit's about to get SADDER!

Credence sees Newt more and more throughout the following couple weeks. They go out for breakfast and talk shop, eating bagels and drinking orange juice out of champagne flutes. Newt drops by Credence’s apartment with his arms full of groceries and attempts to whip up dinner for the both of them. He nearly burns the building down, but Credence does have to admit that the man makes a delicious spaghetti sauce. He also suspiciously has way more than just the ingredients needed for pasta in his reusable shopping bags, but Credence doesn’t notice until he checks his fridge the next morning and finds it stocked. He decides not to say anything about that one and just enjoys the feeling of hunger subsiding for the first time in about a year.

He starts making a mental list of all the things he has to pay Newt back for. The list gets long very quickly.

The Goldstein’s have put Newt up in a fancy hotel downtown, but he still spends a few nights a week sleeping on Credence’s couch. It can’t be comfortable, but he doesn’t complain. Credence offers him the bed the second night he’s there as Newt yawns loudly, but Newt just shakes his head and says the couch will be more than fine.

Credence picks up a few odd jobs here and there, while Newt spends day after day at the Goldstein’s offices. He spends his mornings at fittings and his afternoons shooting. Sometimes Credence tags along and watches Newt try on hundreds of suits and sweaters and shoes. One afternoon, he hears a wardrobe assistant make an offhand comment about “Mr. Scamander’s new boyfriend,” and balks. Luckily, Newt doesn’t seem to hear her observation and Credence is able to suffer through his embarrassment in peace.

Credence watches Newt interact with the Goldstein sisters. Queenie flutters around him, straightening his collar and ruffling his hair, treating him more like a little brother than a grown man. Tina, on the other hand, observes from a distance. Credence sees them sometimes speaking to each other privately, heads bent together as they whisper about outfits and poses. He tries not to get jealous when he sees Newt shoot her private smiles, but the envy consumes him anyway.

Sometimes, Credence doesn’t hear from Newt all day. Credence knows he’s busy and in high-demand, but he also knows that sometimes Newt wants nothing more than to be left alone. A true introvert, he needs a day here and there to recharge and prepare for his strenuous schedule. If he comes over and it’s been a particularly long day, Credence is more than content to sit in silence, or just read books in each other’s company. Newt tells Credence he doesn’t have many friends in New York yet.

Credence secretly hopes he doesn’t make any. It’s selfish, but Credence worries that if Newt meets anyone new, he’ll abandon him. Credence has never had many friends before, because Mr. Graves had always hated it when he spent his time with other people, and before Mr. Graves he was a homeschooled shut-in. He cherishes Newt’s company and only sometimes thinks about what it would be like to be able to see Newt wake up every morning, or kiss him, or run his fingers through the man’s curly hair. It’s why he finds himself so jealous of Tina Goldstein, even though the two have never hinted at anything but a professional relationship to Credence before.

He pushes those thoughts deep down in his stomach and tries very hard to think of Newt as nothing but a friend.

Newt’s there, sitting in Credence’s armchair with his legs tucked under his body, when Queenie Goldstein calls Credence to set up a test shoot. He smiles warmly at Credence the whole time he’s on the phone. Queenie and Credence arrange a date and time for him to come to the studio and when he hangs up, he has to go sit in the bathtub for half an hour to calm down. Newt rests against the door the whole time, not making a sound and just letting Credence breathe.

…

 

The first time Credence shoots with Queenie Goldstein, he falls a little in love with her.

He shows up so nervous about proving himself to both her and her sister, but when he arrives, Tina is nowhere to be seen. There’s only Queenie, dressed in a very fashionable black dress, a brown haired photographer, and a half dozen stylists milling around. Queenie ushers him in with a bright smile, and leads him over to hair and makeup with a hand at the small of his back.

Credence has never seen a stylist get so involved in every aspect of her shoot. Usually, after approving wardrobe, designers pass models off to hair and makeup artists and let them do all their own work. Not Queenie. She hovers right over Credence’s shoulder the whole time he’s getting his face painted and discusses colors and technique with the makeup artist.

She runs her fingers through his dark hair and ruffles it around while the hair stylist decides what to do with it. They agree on a slicked back coif, and Queenie watches attentively as the stylist does her job. The blonde woman sprays hairspray in his hair with a hand on his forehead, protecting him from getting the sticky liquid in his eyes and mouth.

When the assistant dressing him pulls his tie too tight, Queenie is right there loosening it so he can breathe again. She directs the wardrobe stylist away from tight fitting clothes and more towards the too-big sweaters. It’s like the woman can read minds.

She introduces him to the man who will be shooting Credence’s work today. 

“This is my husband, Jacob,” She says, and the portly man holds a hand out for Credence to shake. The man has the warmest brown eyes Credence has ever seen. He understands why the two are married.

As Jacob takes photo after photo of Credence in multiple outfits, Queenie watches the monitor and points out her favorite shots to her assistant. When they stop to change clothes and backdrops, she comes to Credence and tells him what a great job he’s doing and offers him a bottle of water. When they break for lunch, she leads him over to flip through the monitor with her.

“You’re such a natural, sweetie,” she praises. Credence begrudgingly looks as his photos and is stunned by the way Queenie has managed to bring out a softer side of him. He’s never looked at one of his own shoots and thought he’d looked beautiful. Seductive? Of course. Handsome? He didn’t think his face could do that.

But there’s something soft and vulnerable in the way Queenie has had him shot. It’s nothing like the way Mr. Graves always wanted him to look so submissive and sexy. She doesn’t leer at his neck and protruding shoulder blades. She has her husband capture how his toes curl on the porcelain floor and the way his sleeves fall past his hands. Jacob clicks the shutter at just the right moment to catch flashes of Credence’s smile. This is the first time Credence has ever liked his own work.

“Ms. Goldstein, do you think… perhaps…” He stutters, but Queenie lets him finish in his own time. “Can I have a copy of these?” He asks and feels so stupid the second the words come out. To his surprise, Queenie’s smile gets even brighter.

“Of course, sugar,” She says, and pats his arm. “You can have as many copies as you want.”

Credence takes home a physical page of his favorite shot— one where Queenie had told him to do his best fake laugh, which had prompted the both of them to break into actual giggles. His eyes are shining and his smile is so _real_. He tacks the photo to his fridge and thanks whoever is listening for bringing Queenie Goldstein into his life (Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he has only Newt Scamander to thank for his good fortune). 

…

 

That night, he gets a call from an unknown number. He debates for a few moments before sliding his finger across the answer button.

“Credence Barebone,” he greets in his most professional voice.

“Hi, Credence, this is Tina Goldstein.” Credence almost drops his phone. “We were hoping you were free tomorrow and could come down to the office to meet with us about possibly becoming an official member of our team.” Credence’s heart stops.

“Of course, ma’am.” he stutters. 

“Great! Bring any contracts and negotiations you’d like us to look over.” 

Credence is dialing Mr. Scamander as soon as Tina hangs up. He excitedly explains the whole conversation to Newt, pausing only to let slip that he’s never drawn up his own contract before.

Mr. Scamander comes over to Credence’s apartment and they stay up half the night bent over Credence’s coffee table, writing up a contract. Newt has done his fair share of negotiations, and shares his knowledge with the younger man. They write page after page of information, sharing cigarettes and cups of coffee. 

“What are the “Big No”s for you?” Newt asks, a pen tapping against his upper lip. Credence hugs his knees to his chest and is silent for a moment. 

“Um, I guess I don’t want to be… restrained,” he says quietly, bringing his thumb up to his mouth so he can bite at his fingernail. Newt doesn’t look at him as he jots down what Credence has said. “I also don’t like when photographers t-touch me. Mr. Graves always pushed me roughly into position, and I’d like it if it didn’t happen now,” 

There’s an awkward silence where Credence pictures every horrible way this conversation will end. He thinks of Newt looking at him in disgust or hatred, or worst of all, pity. Mr. Scamander doesn’t do any of those things. In fact, he doesn’t look at Credence at all. He just writes a few things down in his notebook and then reassures Credence that disliking things photographers do is nothing to be ashamed of.

“I don’t look at my own pictures,” Newt confesses. The pen is still tapping, now against his notebook. “I’ve never been proud of a shoot I’ve done.”

“But,” Credence swallows, “You’re basically the most famous model in England,” 

Newt smiles wryly, his eyebrows drawn. He chuckles a bit. 

“I never wanted to be famous,” he says, “Still don’t, in fact,” 

“Then why model?” Credence asks.

“It sort of just… happened,” Newt says, a faraway look in his eyes, “I always wanted to be a zoologist just like my mother.” 

“A zoologist?” Credence wrinkles his nose

“Yes,” Newt says, chuckling, “I suppose that is a bit of an unbelievable job for me, but I’ve always loved animals. They’re, um, easier to deal with than people.” Credence definitely can agree with that.

“Do you have pets?” Credence quizzes.

“There’s not much space in my life for a dog or lizard, I’m afraid,” Newt says sadly, “But if I could, I would have as many pets as possible,”

Credence very carefully doesn’t think about the other things Newt doesn’t have room in his life for. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Thanks for all your help, Newt,” Credence says, making eye contact with the man. “You’ve done so much for me,”

“That’s what friends are for,” Newt responds. 

“We’re friends?” Credence wonders, and Newt looks at him very sadly.

“Well, of course we are,” he says, and Credence feels the need to make Newt understand just how much this means to him.

“I’ve never had a friend like you before, Mr. Scamander,” Credence says, and Newt reaches over and grabs Credence’s hand. His palm is slightly sweaty and his fingers are cold, but Credence cherishes the contact.

“The feeling is mutual. Most people find me annoying,” Newt confesses.

“Well,” Credence jokes, “I mean I do too, I’ve just grown accustomed to it,” Newt laughs and brings Credence’s hand up to his mouth. He presses a feather light kiss against the younger man’s knuckles before dropping it altogether.

They return to writing, but there’s a new softness in the way Newt looks at Credence that makes his heart flutter.

When Newt’s head begins to loll forwards while in the middle of writing a paragraph about salary, Credence carefully pries a mug from his grip and lets the man relax into his couch. He pulls an extra blanket off his own bed and tucks it around Mr. Scamander’s shoulders. The man grips the soft fabric in his fingers as he drifts further into sleep. Credence decides to type up the contract in the morning, and calls it a night.

When he finally falls asleep on his soft mattress, he dreams about Queenie Goldstein’s kind eyes and Mr. Scamander’s smile.

In the morning, Credence wakes up to an empty apartment. It’s when he’s fixing himself a cup of coffee that he sees a handwritten note stuck to his fridge. It’s directly below the photo from his test shoot with Queenie.

_Good luck today,_ it reads in Newt’s truly heinous scrawl, _call me as soon as you have news!_

Credence runs his fingers along the words and his heart thumps in his chest.

 

_…_

 

The thing is, Credence is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. No one has ever been kind to him in his life without wanting something. Ma washed his clothes and kept him fed, but she always made Credence repent his sins in return. Mr. Graves took his repayment in the form of sex, making Credence come to his apartment following parties and getting him just high enough to not feel the burn. Credence is constantly on edge, waiting for the moment Newt decides it’s time to collect his reward.

He spends an entire afternoon in Tina’s office, discussing business and signing bonuses and his contract. Queenie brings him cup after cup of coffee and switches him to hot chocolate once his hands start shaking. Tina is very thorough as she goes over his contract, which details the things he will and won’t do. The Will Not Do page is entirely Newt’s doing— an area that prohibits things like collars and gags from ever being a part of Credence’s shoots. TheGoldstein's have never been known to do specifically sexual shoots, but Newt had said Credence is better safe than sorry.

When they finally come to an agreement, Credence grips a black pen tight in his fingers and signs his name on the dotted line. Queenie claps and hugs him tight against her chest, and Tina shoots him a warm smile. 

“Welcome to the team, Credence,” Tina says. Credence detaches himself from Queenie and holds a hand out to shake, but Tina forgoes civility and pulls him in for a hug too. Credence has never felt so light in his life.

When he’s free to go, he walks outside and leans up against the side of the building the Goldstein's are based out of. He lights a cigarette and calls Newt.

“They signed me,” He says breathlessly as soon as Newt utters his greeting and beams when the other man laughs warmly on the other line.

“That’s wonderful, Credence,” He responds and Credence’s heart is beating so so loudly in his chest. “I knew they would,”

“Newt, they’re paying so much more than Mr. Graves ever did.” Credence whispers, and Newt makes a small sound on the other line. Credence freezes, hoping he didn’t give away too much information and offend his friend. But his worry is quickly tamped down by Newt replying, 

“Good! Now, I should probably treat you to dinner tonight in celebration, shouldn’t I?” There’s no hesitation as Credence accepts his invite. His only worry is if he’ll have enough time to pick out something to wear.

Later, when he’s sitting in his suit waiting for Newt to ring the doorbell, he considers if this is the night Newt will decide to collect.

…

 

When Newt shows up at Credence’s apartment to pick him up, he’s wearing a Tom Ford suit. The jacket fits snugly along his shoulders and has faint gold piping along the lapel. His white shirt is tucked into navy blue pants, showing off the slight curve of his waist. His bowtie is plaid and tied intricately. Credence is dressed in his own best, of course, but his simple black suit and skinny red tie look like rags next to Newt.

“You look very nice,” Newt compliments, smiling at the floor. There’s a green leafy stick poking out of the pocket at the front of his jacket. At Credence’s confused look, he explains, “Sort of a good luck charm,” and pulls another green stick out of his pants pocket to tuck into the front of Credence’s suit. Once he finishes, he holds his arm out for Credence to take.

Newt brings Credence to a very fancy restaurant in downtown Manhattan. The maître d’ leads them to a private table in a dark corner. 

“I’ve never been one for being around a lot of people,” Newt explains as Credence’s eyes roam the empty area. Credence’s earlier trepidation is forgotten as they lean in close to one another and have intimate conversation without fear of prying eyes.

During dinner, Credence gushes to Newt about his meeting with the Goldstein's, telling him all about the negotiations proudly. He mentions that both Tina and Queenie had hugged him, and Newt breaks out in a dashing smile.

“How did you get involved with the sisters, anyway?” Credence asks, and Newt rolls his napkin between his fingers.

“I met Tina a long time ago, back when I was just some kid trying to catch a break,” Newt smiles, “She didn’t like me much back then; probably thought I was a crazy man,”

Credence feels a pang of jealously in his stomach at the way Newt speaks fondly of the woman. He represses it the best he can. 

“We kept in close contact for a number of years, until now, when she and Queenie finally had a collection for me to model for. The rest is history,” 

Their food arrives and they’re silent for a few minutes as they begin to eat. Credence’s hands are sweaty as they grip his silverware. 

“Tina seems to be quite fond of you,” Credence comments, trying to sound nonchalant, and Newt nods.

“Yes, I do guess so,” he says, “She does humor me a bit more than she probably should. If she wasn’t attracted to women, I’d have married her years ago,”

Credence freezes. 

“You mean,” He starts, “You two aren’t… together?”

Newt lets out a laugh, but stops when he realizes Credence is serious.

“Credence, did you not realize this was a date?” Newt asks suddenly, eyes wide. “I mean, I guess I wasn’t particularly clear in the way I asked you out, but I figured the fancy restaurant was enough of a clue,” He rambles, and Credence feels his face go red.

“I suppose I didn’t,” He says, and Newt sighs. 

“Well, it is,” Newt says with an air of finality. 

Credence wants to be pleased, but a lingering chill runs fingers up his spine. He thinks back to how Mr. Graves used to take him out to fancy dinners, refilling his wine glass over and over. Newt isn’t pushing Credence to get drunk, though, and he supposes that’s a good sign. Nevertheless, he has to find out if Newt has… less than innocent intentions. He decides to just come out and say it, before it explodes out of him at an inopportune time.

“Newt,” he starts, and fights past the lump of terror in his throat, “You didn’t ask me out to, like, collect… right?”

“Pardon?” Newt asks, eyes wide and innocent.

“It’s just, the night Mr. Graves signed me, he took me out to dinner,” Credence’s breathing picks up at the memories of Mr. Graves pushing him up against a wall and swallowing his protests. “And later, I had to, you know, repay him, for all his kindness.”

Newt’s jaw drops. He makes rare eye contact and seems to count to ten before speaking.

“Credence, I would _never_ try to take advantage of you like that,” he says fiercely, almost angry. Credence has only seen Newt get angry once before, at the prospect of a photographer making Credence do something he didn’t want to do. 

“But I do owe you so much,” Credence argues, but Newt silences him with a hand held in the air.

“Firstly, you don’t owe me anything,” Credence opens his mouth, but closes it as Newt continues on. “You got this job through your own immense talent. This was all you, Credence.” Newt is breathing hard now too, fingers white where they grip the edge of the table. 

“Secondly, what Mr. Graves did to you for all those years was so wrong. He manipulated you and made you do things you didn’t want to do and taught you that being afraid is normal.” His voice is wavering now, with the effort of staying semi-quiet in the deserted restaurant, and partly because of his anger. 

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Credence says before he can stop himself, and Newt visibly deflates.

“I’m not angry with you, Credence,” he assures, “I’m angry with Percival Graves.”

_Get in line_ , Credence thinks wryly. Newt seems to have calmed down, and all Credence’s reservations about the date have been resolved. He takes a long drink of water, signaling to Newt to change the subject.

“Uh, I have a shoot in London on Monday,” Newt starts after a pause of comfortable silence, the need for a new line of conversation making the words seem to fall out of his mouth, “with Vogue UK,” 

Credence feels himself begin to unravel again as he remembers that Newt has to go back home at some point. Right when he thinks he finally has everything under control, his anxiety slams into him full force.

“Sounds fun,” Credence says, and Newt’s eyebrows draw together at his clipped tone.

“I’ll call you and tell you all about it,” Newt promises, but Credence isn’t listening anymore. 

He feels his chest tighten. He reaches for his water glass, but his fingers don’t cooperate. The cold hand of an incoming panic attack reaches past his sternum and grabs hold of his lungs. A million voices swarm in his head, all repeating the word _London_. 

“Are you alright?” Newt asks, and Credence can’t answer him. His vision is blurring and there’s a niggling voice at the back of his head that whispers _He’s going to leave you, just like Mr. Graves did, just like Ma did._ There’s a clattering sound as Newt lets go of his silverware and lets it hit his plate.

“Breathe, Credence,” Newt commands, and Credence sucks in a breath. He meets Newt’s eyes and the man is looking at him worriedly. Newt reaches across the table and grabs Credence’s outstretched hand, rubbing circles into his palm with his thumb.

Credence sucks in a lungful of air and counts to six before exhaling. The cold fingers on his heart don't let up. He pulls his hand away from Newt’s grip and tries not to let the hurt look on Newt’s face affect him.

“I’m so sorry,” Credence says, standing, “I have to go,”

“Credence,” Newt objects, but Credence is striding away before he can finish. 

The train ride back to his apartment is long, and when he finally trudges up the stairs and into his front door, he feels cold inside. He’s been reminded of the fact that all this is fleeting— that soon Newt is going to leave him behind. Newt has to return home to London, and when he does it’ll _kill_ Credence. All the kindness and patience will mean nothing when Newt leaves Credence alone again, and he’ll be the same sad, starved boy again.

He strips out of his sweater and slacks, toeing out of his shoes. Newt’s green good luck charm falls out of his pocket and onto the floor and he carefully picks up the stick and sets it on the coffee table. Then he curls up on his cold mattress and cries. 


	4. 'cause you can have almost famous friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to fleetwood mac, because their album rumors GOT ME THROUGH writing this. couldn't have done it without you, stevie nicks.

Credence avoids Newt all week. He rejects every one of Newt’s worried phone calls, and when the man knocks on Credence’s apartment door, he’s met with dead silence. He knows Credence is showing up to his shoots with the Goldstein sisters, but that’s only because Tina calls Newt angrily one night and yells at him.

“He’s walking around like a kicked dog, Newt,” she mutters angrily, “I mean, it’s doing wonders for his shoot because he definitely looks attractive when he’s sad but that’s not the point!” Newt feels positively awful.

“I don’t know what I did!” Newt exclaims, a lump caught in his throat, “He’s the one who walked out on me!” He argues, but he knows it’s futile. If anyone is to blame, it’s Newt. For pressuring Credence and moving too fast, but also for not acting quick enough. For finally getting somewhere healthy and good with him, then reminding the boy he’s leaving in three days.

“I watched him smoke through a pack of cigarettes in a matter of three hours yesterday. Fix it,” Tina commands before hanging up. 

Newt would if he knew how.

Instead, Newt puts his head down and finishes up his work with the Goldstein sisters. He walks in one fashion show, and his eyes scan the crowd the whole time, looking for one particular dark-haired boy. Credence isn’t there. 

He attends multiple parties, squeezing by starlets and millionaires and roaming the room, searching for a boy with broad shoulders and sharp cheeks. He asks around about him, but only gets a few distracted answers that have nothing to do with his recent whereabouts and more do to with “What did ever happen to that twink of Percival’s?” Newt tightens his hands into fists and thanks them for their help with a tight smile, and he seeks out a new person to ask about a man with sad eyes and a tragic past.

Newt does not search out Percival Graves. He does not walk to the man’s tall office building and stand outside, staring into reflective glass windows and thinking about what he would do if he met the man. Newt Scamander certainly does not want to make the man pay for the havoc he’s wreaked on Credence Barebone’s self-esteem. Newt is better than that.

Newt has Jacob ask Queenie about Credence for him, and is disappointed when the brunette man has no information for him that he doesn’t already know. 

“The kid is pretty beat up,” Jacob says, brown eyes sad. “I don’t know what’s goin’ through his head, but he could definitely use a pick-me-up.” Newt is reminded of the time he’d fixed Credence a mug of coffee during a panic attack.

Newt gets an idea. It’s a pretty poor idea, but it’s an idea nonetheless. He leaves for London in three days, and he’s going to repair things with Credence before he goes. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure he wants to go home at all.

Newt goes to Credence’s apartment, climbing the rickety stairs and stopping in front of Credence’s faded door. He knocks a few times, but when Credence fails to answer, he runs his fingers along the top of the door frame and finds the spare key. He unlocks the younger man’s apartment, and steps inside.

It’s just as sparsely furnished as it always has been, but it feels colder now than ever. Newt flicks on a lamp and the room is bathed in dim yellow light. Newt’s green stick, a poor excuse for a boutineer, is laying on the coffee table. He picks it up and twirls it between his fingers for a moment before returning it to its place.

The grocery bag in his hand is heavy as he sets it down on the counter. 

Newt looks at Credence’s fridge, and finds the photo from the boy’s first shoot with Queenie. His head is thrown back in laughter, eyes crinkled around the edges. His dark hair is slicked back, showing off his sharp cheekbones and smooth jawline. Newt wants to see that bright smile every day for the rest of his life. He gently pulls the photo down and folds it in half twice before sliding it into his wallet.

He pulls a pen out of his breast pocket and finds a notepad to jot down a note for Credence.

 

_Please let me fix what I’ve broken. I’d like to be around you forever._

_-Newt_

_P.S. I’m taking this photo with me. I hope you don’t mind. I left you a gift on the counter in return._

 

He keeps the message short and sweet. Newt has never been one for flowery language or poetry, and he doesn’t want Credence to think him insincere. He pins the note to the fridge and draws an arrow that points to the grocery bag on Credence’s counter.

When Newt exits the apartment, locking the door behind him and returning the spare key to its hiding spot, he leaves behind the note and a five pound bag of sugar.

…

 

Newt’s last shoot with the Goldstein sisters is a solemn affair. They’ve dressed him in all black, which he finds fitting. He hasn’t heard anything from Credence since leaving his note at the boy’s apartment, and every morning as his flight home nears, he feels emptier. 

Tina keeps shooting him worried looks and Queenie watches him with pity in her blue eyes. They’re patient when they have repeat orders to him multiple times before the words sink in and he moves to comply. Newt has never felt so out of his depth during a photoshoot in his life.

He’s laid back on a chaise lounge chair, legs crossed, when the door to the studio flies open. Newt startles, eyes flying up to look at the intruder. He sits up as Credence comes through the door, a piece of paper clutched in his fist. The younger man marches right up to Newt, disrupting the entire shoot.

“Do you mean this?” Credence says, holding out Newt’s note, “Do you really want me forever?” He’s breathless and his eyes are wide. It looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days, and his thick hair is wild where it breaks free from a bun tied at the back of his head. His chest rises and falls quickly.

“As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours,” Newt confesses. 

Credence lets out a pained sound and then dives forward, sandwiching Newt between his body and the chair.

Credence kisses Newt like he’s trying to meld their bodies together. He tangles a hand in the hair at the back of Newt’s head and cups the other around Newt’s waist. His tongue slides against Newt’s and Newt forgets about the room full of people watching them and focuses on kissing Credence. He closes his eyes and melts into the fabric of the chair, ignoring snickers from Queenie and Jacob’s general vicinity. 

Credence’s kiss is like coming home. It feels like a hot mug in his hands; like the first day of spring. Newt is a drowning man getting his first breath of fresh air.

“Guys,” Tina finally says exasperatedly, “I’m happy for you and all, but we kind of have a job to finish here,”

Newt breaks himself away after one last closed mouth kiss and rests his forehead against Credence’s, breath coming in short pants. Credence grins as he pulls himself off the chair, and reaches a hand out to smooth the wrinkles on Newt’s shirt. It’s futile, but Newt appreciates the warm hand that rests over his heart for a fleeting moment.

“I’ll just wait over here,” he says coyly, and moves away to take a seat near Queenie. Newt’s entire body radiates warmth and he feels a dumb smile stretching across his face. Jacob is smiling behind the camera, and snaps a photo as Newt looks at Credence dazedly.

“That’s a keeper,” Jacob comments, and Queenie laughs with a hand covering her mouth. Credence blushes, but Newt just vows to ask for a copy later.

Newt spends the rest of his shoot sneaking glances at Credence across the room. His distraction from earlier is back with full force, but there’s no crushing emptiness just under his ribs anymore. Instead, he’s distracted by the tingle under his skin from the memory of Credence’s touch. His whole body is alight with desire and happiness and _love_.

Illogically, Newt thinks about packing Credence up in his suitcase and never letting him leave. But he surely can’t take Credence across the ocean with him; he can’t expect Credence to give up his entire life to fly to a new country. He knows that Credence loves him, but has to accept deep down that the boy might not want to follow him everywhere he goes. Credence deserves to have his own life and success.

Newt turns to observe him. His eyes are dancing as he speaks out of the side of his mouth to Queenie and when he laughs at her response, he throws his head back and shows off a slender neck. When Newt finally catches his eye, the man smiles brightly, his face so full of adoration that Newt’s heart threatens to burst out of his body. Newt thinks he would follow Credence to the ends of the Earth. If Credence feels the love for Newt that Newt does for him (and he’s positive the man does), maybe he’d follow Newt all the way to London.

Perhaps the suitcase idea isn’t so illogical after all.


	5. besides we've got such good fashion sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically all smut and fluff so like prepare yourselves (also it's my first time ever writing smut so BE KIND PLEASE I KNOW NOTHING) 
> 
> enjoy!!!

As soon as Newt wraps up his shoot and has striped out of the expensive clothes and back into his own suit, he’s grabbing Credence’s hand and dragging him to hail a taxi. 

“Come to my hotel with me,” Newt asks, fingers tangled with Credence’s. Credence feels himself nod quickly, and Newt rattles off the name of the hotel to the driver. 

They spend the ride to Newt’s hotel with their hands clasped between them. Credence is practically vibrating with excitement and lust against the leather seat. When they pull up to the front of the hotel, Newt tosses far too much money to the cabbie and they depart.

They don’t touch each other in the elevator. They stand a comfortable distance apart as an elevator attendant punches in the number of Newt’s floor. Credence lets himself steal glances over at Newt. The man’s cheeks are deliciously flushed, and there’s a faint bit of eyeliner run along his upper and lower lash lines that makes him look utterly delectable. It’s pure torture to stand mere feet away from him and not be able to reach out and touch.

The elevator dings when they reach Newt’s floor. The sound makes Credence jump. Newt grabs his hand and tugs him towards his room, fingers twitching slightly in Credence’s grip. He slides his key card into the slot, and has barely closed the door behind them when Credence is surging forward and capturing his mouth.

They stumble connected to the bed, shedding shoes and jackets all the way. Newt lets Credence fall down on top of him, hands gripping the younger man’s hips. Credence settles between Newt’s legs. He runs his fingers along Newt’s chest and hooks them in the edge of Newt’s collar. He starts to slowly unbutton the white shirt and as he reveals pale flesh, he places his mouth against Newt’s neck to suck lightly at his collarbone.

As he explores Newt’s spotted neck, his jeans grow tighter and tighter. 

“I need to taste you,” Newt whispers, voice hoarse, and Credence nods his head quickly. They switch positions so Newt can slide down between Credence’s legs. He runs his hands up the younger man’s legs and brings his fingers to the button at the front of Credence’s jeans. “Is this okay?” 

Credence looks at him, eyes wide, and nods his head in affirmation. He’s never had someone ask permission before. He pushes those thoughts to the side as Newt begins to unbutton his pants. Credence lifts off the bed so Newt can slide his jeans down his hips and discard them on the hotel floor. The front of Credence’s boxer briefs is tented, and Newt’s hot breath against his thighs makes his cock ache with want.

When Newt slides his hand down the front of Credence’s waistband, the younger man lets out a gasp and spreads his legs even wider. Newt presses a careful hand against Credence’s hipbone, holding him down but giving him leeway to move if he wants. Credence very much does not want to. 

When Newt finally sinks his hot mouth down over Credence’s cock, it takes every ounce of his willpower not to buck forward. He squeezes his eyes shut and his head falls back onto the pillow. Newt keeps one of his hands pressed on Credence’s hip, rubbing circles with a soft thumb into his hipbone, but brings the other up to grip the length of Credence’s cock. Credence’s hand flies up to his mouth, muffling his cries into a closed fist. He bites a knuckle hard as Newt slides his tongue along the underside of his cock.

When he looks down, Newt looks utterly pornographic. His eyelashes fall on his cheeks, sooty with leftover mascara from the shoot. His hand flexes and moves slightly as his mouth slides up and down Credence’s cock. His lips are wet and so so red. 

There’s pressure against the head of Credence’s cock as Newt swallows around him, and the younger man fears he’s going to come right then. His thighs begin to tense up, and he forces himself to reach his free hand down and pull Newt off. There’s an obscene pop as his mouth slides off Credence’s cock.

“Don’t wanna come yet,” Credence explains breathlessly, and Newt’s eyes darken. He moves forward and they meet for a kiss, teeth clacking. There’s a faint saltiness to Newt’s kiss that makes Credence groan into his mouth. His cock slides against Newt’s bare stomach, and he pushes the man’s shirt further off his shoulders. Newt leans back to strip fully, and Credence follows him, lips pressed to his neck. 

His hands scramble for Newt’s belt. 

“I need you to fuck me,” Credence whispers, lips flush against Newt’s ear. He bites the lobe and Newt lets out a soft groan.

“If you’re sure,” Newt says, and Credence rolls his eyes. He appreciates the need for consent, but if Newt thinks Credence _doesn’t_ want his cock inside him, the man is insane.

“I’m sure,” he says forcefully, pulling Newt’s belt open and pulling his slacks down. There’s an awkward pause as Newt pulls away to shuck his pants and underwear completely off, but once he’s back, his blissfully naked cock slides against Credence’s. He places a closed mouth kiss on the corner of Credence’s mouth and then leans over and rummages in the bedside table before pulling out a container of lube and a strip of condoms.

“Safety first,” Newt smiles into Credence’s mouth, which cause the younger boy to groan. He pulls away and positions himself comfortably on the bed, lifting his knees up and spreading his legs.

“If you’re not inside me within the next ten seconds, I’ll—“ his command is cut short by Newt running a cold finger along his hole, the other hand clamped down on his inner thigh.

Mr. Graves was a rough lover, but Newt is soft and careful as he presses his fingers into Credence. He’s thorough and careful, twisting and rubbing until Credence is a puddle, positively sobbing for more. It’s all very nice, but it’s not what Credence needs.

“Newt, just get in me,” he pants, sweat pooling at his brow. Newt’s own red hair is stuck to his forehead, curling at his temples. Newt twists his fingers one last time before pulling them out completely. Credence moans at the loss, but soon Newt is pressing his cock against his hole and sliding in deliciously slowly.

It burns at first, but soon Credence’s fingernails come up to Newt’s back and dig in, slight crescents marking the man’s freckled flesh. Newt rocks forward, and Credence shakes as the man bottoms out. His hips are flush against Credence’s ass. Newt gives him a few moments to adjust, but Credence reaches a hand forward and grabs Newt’s hip. 

“Move,” he commands, and Newt is eager to comply. He thrusts in and out slowly, and Credence feels every slide and grab of the cock inside him. He’s a mess on the sheets, lips opening and closing in harsh gasps of breath.

When Newt begins to thrust faster, he reaches down towards Credence’s leaking cock and takes it in hand tightly. Credence almost cries at the relief, as Newt swipes his thumb along the head of his cock and pumps his hand up and down. It’s a little dry, but the roughness of Newt’s hand is perfect as he jacks Credence off at the same pace as his hips. He lets Newt thrust into him for a few minutes before his body craves a position change.

“Switch?” Credence asks, and Newt nods shakily. Newt lays back against the bed and plants his feet as Credence climbs over top of him. Credence sinks down on Newt’s cock, abs and thighs tensing as he bottoms out.

Newt thrusts up, hard, and Credence nearly shouts as he hits his prostate dead on. The stretch is delicious with Credence on top, pulling at him deep inside in just the right ways. His cock bounces against his stomach as Newt fucks into him.

After only a few minutes of bliss, Credence feels his balls tighten up. 

“I’m so close,” he whispers brokenly. Newt brings his hand from clutching Credence’s thigh to cup his jawline. He looks so good, laid out with his red hair against the white pillowcase. Credence lets his eyes flutter closed and he turns his head to take Newt’s thumb into his mouth. He licks along the pad of Newt’s finger and when he lightly runs his teeth along it, Newt’s hips stutter. He begins thrusting erratically, his hand back on Credence’s cock and moving out of rhythm. When Credence opens his eyes again, he’s just in time to see Newt bite his lip and furrow his brows. Credence sucks harder on the man’s thumb and Newt moans appreciatively. 

“Come,” Credence commands, lips wrapped around Newt’s digit, and Newt sucks in a quick breath before stalling completely for a moment and then rocking upwards, hard. He shudders and thrusts wildly through his climax. 

Newt’s hand doesn’t stop on Credence’s cock, and when Newt twists just right on the upstroke, Credence tips over the edge. His breath is hot and heavy as he pants into his release, eyes squeezed shut and spine bent backwards. He comes messily between them, striping his and Newt’s stomachs. 

Credence lets himself fall forward, catching himself with all his weight on an outstretched arm just before he slams into Newt. He feels Newt slip out of him, and shivers at the feeling. His skin is cooling, wet against the messy sheets, and the come on his stomach feels tacky. Newt runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. He makes a face as he does it, as if he’s just realized where that hand’s been. Credence’s bones feel heavy with contentment.

“Um,” Newt says eloquently, and Credence laughs in agreement. He lays his head on Newt’s sweaty shoulder and runs his fingers along the man’s collarbone. 

“Um, indeed,” Credence whispers. He feels Newt kiss the top of his head. When he goes to slide away and leave the bed, Newt makes a sad noise. 

“Just gonna go have a smoke,” Credence explains, rummaging around on the floor for his underwear.

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll join you,” Newt says, and starts to get dressed. Credence pulls a face at the come that’s dried on his stomach, but throws a shirt on over it anyway. He pulls on his jeans and riffles in his coat pocket for his pack of smokes and a lighter. They go out onto the balcony, and Credence opens up the carton of Marlboros. 

“There’s only one left,” he lies, and turns to look at Newt. The man’s pants are wrinkled and his shirt is unbuttoned, showing off his faint chest hair and defined stomach. Credence has never seen a more beautiful sight. “I guess we’ll just have to share,”

“Cheers,” Newt responds with a smile. Credence reaches out and sticks the cigarette between Newt’s lips and then leans forward to set it alight. The flame from the lighter dances in Newt’s eyes and and turns them the color of honey. 

When the smoke is down to a final drag, Credence offers it to Newt and watches as he inhales. When he blows the grey smoke out of his lungs, it curls upwards to a purple sky. Credence reaches over and interlaces his fingers with Newt’s and they watch the sun set.

Later, after they’ve showered and returned to bed, Credence falls asleep warm and content in Newt’s hold. He feels safer in Newt’s bed than he ever has curled up in his bathtub.

…

 

Credence wakes up early in the morning, his head pillowed on Newt’s chest. Sun shines in through the blinds and leaves the room awash in golden light. Newt’s pale skin looks paper thin in the morning sunshine, and Credence imagines he can see the blood pump through the man’s veins in time to the rhythm of the heart just under Credence’s ear. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and Credence has never felt so peaceful in his life.

When Newt wakes, they sit in bed and order room service, sharing a plate of pancakes. They’re utterly obnoxious, feeding each other bites off their own forks and sneaking syrup-sticky kisses in between. Credence thinks he could stay like this all day. He stops to check his phone, and sees he’s missed at least three texts from Queenie, and one from Tina. They’re all congratulatory.

Newt fiddles with his phone too for a while, and when Credence sneaks a peek, he sees an airline website. He remembers Newt’s packed suitcase, propped up against the door, and Credence plummets back to Earth. He crawls towards Newt and lays his head in the man’s lap.

“I fly back to London today,” Newt says quietly, running his fingers through Credence’s tangled hair. There’s sadness in his voice, and this is the moment Credence has been dreading. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself not to cry. The only thought that helps him keep from completely falling apart again is the hope that Newt will still love him even when they’re an ocean apart. Credence tells himself they can skype and call each other every night, and some day the Goldstein's will bring Newt back across the sea. He assures himself that Newt promised forever, and Credence is going to take every moment he can get.

Newt breaks the silence.

“Come with me? I’ve already booked you a ticket if you want it. You can live with me and we can get a lizard or a dog and I can help you find jobs in London and I can introduce you to Albus,” he rambles, “Just… please come with me,”

His words are a splash of cool water; a breath of cold air. They wash over Credence and swell in his chest, spilling into his lungs and his stomach and running out the tips of his fingers. The sunshine is brighter, and Newt’s heartbeat is music.

Credence thinks of his empty apartment, the necklace that’s locked away in his bedside table, and Newt’s smile. He thinks about that first night he met Newt Scamander and about sharing a cigarette and about blue smoke curling towards the stars. He thinks about this moment: his head on Newt’s thigh and his teeth marks on Newt’s neck, and thinks of eternity. Credence responds.

“Anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for coming on this journey with me and tolerating my ridiculous romcom plot points!!! a special shoutout to both zin and sol for supporting me and not getting mad when i sent them a thousand tumblr messages at 4am having mental breakdowns abt crewt!! 
> 
> the work title and chapter titles are taken from "our lawyers made us change the name of this song so we wouldn't get sued" by fall out boy
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @credbareboned if u wanna yell at me 4 my terrible AUs


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